


Raise a Glass to Those Who are Gone

by Lexi13930



Category: Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard - Rick Riordan
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Caring Blitz and Hearth, Flash Forward, Gen, Humour, Hurt and comfort, Magnus drinks a lot, No falafel this time, Slight self-loathing, alcohol use, don't drink when underage, it's not worth it, pre books
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-20 22:13:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12442869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexi13930/pseuds/Lexi13930
Summary: Magnus wasn't a drinker, except from that one time....AKAMagnus makes a deal and pays for it with a bad case of drinking too much. Honestly, who thought giving Magnus Chase alcohol was a good idea?AKARemember in Sword of Summer when Magnus mentions drinking and then vomiting afterwards? Well, here's that story.





	Raise a Glass to Those Who are Gone

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first prompt fill, hope you enjoy it.  
> From Anon - 'Can i request the first time Magnus tried alcohol (then threw up according to the book)' here you go.  
> This ended up a tad deeper than intended, and longer. Whoops.

** *-*- MAGNUS *-*- **

Magnus wasn’t known for his perceptiveness – this was true. He was practically infamous for his ability to slip over the little details in favor of analyzing the all-consuming, life-changing details. However, there were things that even he couldn’t miss.

Like the soft scent of roasted chestnuts wafting around the polluted air of Boston, the cause being dozens of street vendors trying to scramble an ungodly amount of money for the murdered nuts. And the way that people seemed more charged than normal as they made their daily commutes from work.

The most pronounced was the sheer joy that burned in the air, a supernatural wave that leaked into even the grouchiest people during the festive season that was Christmas time.

Christmas; the time of year when you could be nice to someone once and then ignore them for the other three-hundred-and-sixty-four days, yet would still be considered a good person. Magnus had some moral issues with Christmas but overall he was usually one of the most obnoxiously happy people during the winter festival. 

It had been nearly a year since he ended up rotting on the streets, and so it was his first Christmas without his mother. So his usual cheery Christmas aroma was mildly tainted by his grief and loneliness. 

After a year he was almost used to the constant burden of wondering exactly where his next meal was coming from and whether the person staring at him from across the street realized just how creepy he was being. 

Wait a second. 

Magnus darted his gaze to the old sod watching him with a hint of fear, before turning away; he had a job to do and no one was going to stop him.

He was casually tailing a rich man (obvious from his shiny shoes and the fact he just bought himself way too many pretzels than he could’ve ever managed to eat on his own – thankfully Magnus was in a benevolent enough mood to give him a hand with the goodies). It hadn’t been long since his last meal but the biting cold, as mild as it was, still brought a shudder to his stomach that practically pleaded to be filled by something gloriously sugary and greasy… what was he thinking about again?

As the man began to speed up Magnus decided one thing: it was now or never. He focused his gaze on a cut in his palm as he hurried forward as if on the way to meet a parent or friend, sadly his path was blocked by a man with a certain paper bag in his pocket. 

Even more unfortunate was the fact the bag became dislodged as Magnus and the man collided. 

“Oi!” The man shouted, pivoting on his heal with eyes like Satan. Magnus had to take note of his features before concocting the perfect play for his little game. The man’s hair was pitch black and slicked back with something slimy – though Magnus’ hair probably looked similar considering the sheer amount of snow that had sadly passed away upon his head.

His suite was an off-blue color and was partnered with a white shirt and black tie. In short, he was a very typical business many who obviously thought very highly of himself.

He – Magnus was going to nickname him Steve, he seemed like a Steve – probably drove a BMW too. All of them drove BMWs like it was some sort of weird business person cult (unlikely as it was).

“Sorry!” Magnus exclaimed apologetically, bending down to gather up the briefcase that had also taken the plunge. “I’m sorry, sir. I wasn’t looking where I was going and-” here he cut himself off abruptly and took his time staring at the thousand dollar briefcase then gulped as he pretended to take the suit and hair in for the first time, “Oh, you idiot.” He cursed himself – Oscar-worthy, honest.

“You need to watch yourself, son.” The man scolded, but was evidently pleased by the awe hidden in the cracks on Magnus’ face. Magnus coaxed some color to his cheek as he stuttered out something unintelligible. 

Then, he snapped his mouth shut and sheepishly handed over the briefcase and smiled like he was nothing but a mere child. 

“No harm was done though,” the man conceded. “Keep your eye out, son. Not everyone is as forgiving as I.” With a marble grin, the man patted Magnus on the shoulder (Magnus was thankful that he couldn’t feel the contact through his too big jacket) and turned away, not thinking of looking in his pocket for his food or on the pavement where a simple brown paper bag lay nonchalantly.

Magnus, however, scooped up the bag and skipped off on his way, slightly proud of his success – a startling rare occurrence.

“Not bad.” Now, Magnus wasn’t at all ignorant about his screamer habit but was still ashamed when he let out a ‘girly shriek’ at the presence of a mere man. On a totally unrelated note, a lot of people had decided to turn their attention to him and the man hovering at his side. 

The man that had been watching him was suddenly only a step away, staring at Magnus’ prize like a starving man, which considering his skeletal state was all too likely. The old guy had a beard that was similar to the straw of a broomstick and pits around his eyes that Magnus couldn’t tear his gaze away from. He was wearing a too short black, Sherlockian coat and worn brown trousers, Magnus could almost imagine the look on Blitz’s face if the two of them ever clapped eyes on one another. 

“Sometimes lots of practice and a young face do come in handy,” Magnus replied, remembering that it was rude to ignore an old man’s praise. The man coughed a sort of laugh and Magnus clutched his food tighter. 

“Two things that have an odd habit of eluding me,” the man moaned woefully. “Now, you interested in a bargain?” Magnus appreciated the straight-forwardness of the conversation but the word bargain was giving him the heebie-jeebies. So, he used one hand to cushion the bag and the other to straighten his backpack in preparation to flee. If the man noticed, he said nothing as he inclined his head slightly and the two of them began to shuffle down the street. 

“Depends on whether you’re a pedophile or not,” Magnus stated calmly, the man gave a worrying chock, once again drawing too much attention. One man gave him a worried look but Magnus just winked in his direction which sent the little man scurrying off.

“I most certainly am not!” The man denied looking highly offended (oops). Well, better be safe than sorry – one of his mum’s favorite phrases. 

“That’s exactly what a pedophile would say,” Magnus argued lamely.

“Trying beating around the bush a tad more, kid.” Why did everyone refer to him as either ‘kid’, ‘kiddo’ or ‘son’? What was wrong with ‘mate’ or ‘bro’? Or hell, even ‘Jimmy’ would’ve been cool. The two of them crossed the street to a row of shops that most certainly would never be inside Magnus’ budget (what kind of person spent $100 on a pair of jeans?).

“I don’t have a bush or a stick to beat it with,” Magnus admitted even as the old man made a goat noise, which was kind of hilarious. But his mum always taught him not to laugh at the unfortunate people who were born with weird ass (was that a pun?) laughs. It’s worth mentioning that his mum has… had the weirdest laugh ever.

“Ok let’s move on before more people stare at us.” The man suggested. Magnus nodded at him even though not many people were staring at them. 

“Good call, matey.” Heh, that made the guy seem like a pirate. New nickname time: the man was hereby christened Jack - because, you know, Jack Sparrow the pirate?

“I’m starving here kid and you’ve got a lot of food there,” cold food now “and I have something spicy that I know you’re gonna love.” 

“What like fajitas?” 

“Not that kind of spicy… and why would I have fajitas?” the man asked befuddled. “I just said I was starving.” 

“I don’t know,” The man mumbled something and grabbed gently at Magnus’ forearm and began pulling him slowly down an alleyway - suspicious as a cat playing the ukulele.

“I found something on the side of the road, completely unopened. But I gave it up a long time ago for my Jocelyn, and I’m not betraying her by falling back into old habits, ever.

Yet I sense that you might enjoy having a good time.” The man took him further and further down one road then the next, then another alley. Magnus tried to commit the path to memory but was too occupied trying to figure the man’s riddle out.

“I don’t know what you mean, dude. But I don’t do drugs or anything like that; I’m only fourteen!” Magnus tugged his arm and was pleasantly surprised when the man released it instantly and turned to him eyes void of emotion.

“We’re here. Listen, kid, I swear it isn’t anything bad as long as you don’t do it like I did,” Jack warned softly and almost fondly. Magnus remembered faintly that he was supposed to meet Blitz and Hearth by the Ducklings Statue that afternoon. He hoped they wouldn’t be mad at him but things had sort of spiraled out of control before he had the thought to grab hold of anything.

The sudden invasion of a sloshing bottle in his face stunned him back to the present. It was a clear bottle of some sort that looked almost like apple juice – surely not all this was for apple juice. 

And how was one expected to respond to said apple juice aside from “Eh?”

“This is Rum, son. Old Captain Morgan, a personal favorite of mine,” Magnus laughed, he felt bad about it but the situation was too weird to avoid it. He was a kid with a stone-cold bag of pretzels, bargaining with a man for a bottle of rum – a man he had so perfectly named after a pirate. 

“I don’t drink, man.” Was the first thing that came out of his mouth? And it wasn’t necessarily true as he hadn’t drunk before so he was highly inexperienced in the area, but was he opposed to it? That remained to be seen.

“Please, kid,” Jack whispered, eyes teary in the harsh glow of the sun leaking down the alley. For the first time, Magnus noticed a locked hanging from the old guy’s throat. It beheld the picture of a woman, perhaps in her sixties. She looked like the kind of woman who would always offer to watch Magnus when his mum went out; the kind who would never fail to bake cakes for the neighbors when they were down; the kind that the world was in short supply of. The picture had long since faded in color but was still stored with careful care. 

Magnus looked back up at Jack and knew that the man was on his last legs. He handed the pack over to him, feeling guilty about their staleness. Yet the man still cradled them like they were the crown jewels. In exchange Magnus took the bottle from him, knowing full well that he wouldn’t drink it… probably.

The man smiled, and it was worth all the pretzels in the world, no matter how soaked in grease they were.

“What’s your name?” Magnus asked him as tried to figure out a way to hold the bottle without looking like a teenage alcoholic. The man’s smile was mustard yellow but treasured all the same.

“Richard but my friends used to call me… something someone of your age shouldn’t say.” Magnus gave a chuckle at that, feeling a sense of kinship with the man all of a sudden.

“I’m Magnus,” he responded holding out a hand for Richie to take, the man did so gleefully. Then the two of them parted ways, no words were spoken as the man chewed on a pretzel. “You better be on your way, Magnus, I do believe your street Mum and Dad would be worried about you by now,” 

Street Mum and Dad = Hearth and Blitz? Oh, he couldn’t wait to tell them that. Simple farewells were shared as Magnus walked back towards the park. Thankfully he was relatively familiar with where he was – a simple benefit of living on the streets.

As he walked he couldn’t help but let his thought be consumed by poor Richard and his wife, Jocelyn was it? How the poor man had managed to lose everything in a matter of moments, to the extent he was willing to trade a kid some alcohol for some old street food, stolen street food. Magnus was reminding himself to keep a lookout for a glass recycling bin (saving the world one bottle of rum at a time!) but still couldn’t help but ignore them every time he passed one.

In the end, he could only think of one course of action to calm his weeping mind; he unscrewed the top off the not-apple-juice bottle. He raised it to his lips, ignoring the bubbling sensation in his nose and the roar of traffic before him. 

“For Richard,” he toasted before taking a swig. It was completely and utterly disgusting. He choked slightly at the bite, yet there was something there. An energy that made his stomach spin and urged him to take another sip. 

He dedicated the next to the woman who had meant so much to a man who cared about so little: “For Jocelyn.” The next sip was no better and forced him to leave the bottle by his side as he crossed the road, holding his breath against the awful smell of car fumes. 

“For Natalie Chase,” it was only natural to honor his selfless, caring mother every time he was offered to opportunity to do so. The bite was slowly calming to a mere nip; it was hard to tell that exact moment when the alcohol started to creep into his system. There was no sudden whoosh of colours or sound like the teachers in his school had warned him about, nor was there a moment when he could tell that his self-control had cartwheeled out the window (metaphorical window, of course, he didn’t have a window or a bush, what honestly was the point of having just a window without a house or a bush without a garden?)

“For Uncle Randolph, you crazy son of my grandparents,” he chuckled slightly as he threw back another mouthful of the slightly delicious liquid down his throat. Randolph was a weirdo if there ever was one, a family gene he was sure.

The park was creeping over the horizon, would Blitz and Hearth even be there anymore? Who knows?

“To my great Padre, thanks for always being there for me you bastard!” he shouted to the sky, laughing despite the people staring at him and the parent quickly ushering their children away from him as if he were mad. Some people were really rude, jeez.

“To Annabeth… uh where are you cuz?” he wondered out loud. He looked around him but she wasn’t there. Where did she go? Maybe she flew away, or the ground swallowed him up. That’s sad, poor Annabeth.

He was in the park now, the green grass was gently stroking his exposed ankles (how scandalous) as he trotted to where a red and white striped scarf was fluttering about in the distance. 

“Hey, Hearth!” He waved the bottle in the air, careful as to not spill it anywhere. His friend turned towards him, too far was he for Magnus to gaze upon his carved features – he was the next Shakespeare, no doubt about it.

His street parents came barrelling towards him, but they were too far to stop their street son from screwing himself over as he raised the bottle to the heavens.

“To Blitz and Hearth,” he smiled and through back every last drop of rum in the bottle. 

Every. Last. Drop.

“You idiot!” Blitz yelled at him, snatching the bottle away from him and throwing it forcefully to the ground until it was nothing more than sprinkles of glass.  
He just caused the death of some ants, Magnus hoped Blitz would apologize to them at some point. It was the polite thing to do after all.

**** BLITZ**  **

When Magnus hadn’t shown up to that afternoon they hadn’t panicked much, it wasn’t like Magnus was particularly known for his promptness, but after nearly an hour they began to worry a bit (a lot). Like a un-ironed shirt, Magnus was flawed but gradually was getting smoother and smoother with his timings.

So when he stumbled up to them, bottle raised like a pistol of freedom, Blitz knew that the kid had had a tough day. Not that that was even close to an excuse for downing an entire bottle of alcohol like that. 

After he destroyed the offensive bottle, he grabbed their rouge charge by the shoulder and shook him free of any more nonsense. 

“What the heck do you think you’re doing, kid?” he shouted at him. Magnus’ eyes were glazed over but his smile was shining like the Bifrost. Hearth was signing a dictionary of words that he hoped Magnus wouldn’t be able to read – they were most definitely rated R.

“I’m doing Dick a favor,” he hoped to all the gods that that wasn’t a euphemism. Hearth clicked his fingers for their attention. 

_Explain_ , was all he signed. 

“Right you are Hearthie!” Magnus nodded, somehow still coherent enough to understand ASL, despite his low-tolerance for drinking. “Ok so I was just robbing this gentleman who was definitely making up for the size of something with his shiny hair and briefcase,” he raised an eyebrow coyly, “you catch my drift?”

 _Sadly_ , came the kind reply.

“Thanks, a-hole,” Magnus exclaimed brightly. “Anyway, so this pedophile came up to me and wanted my pretzel.” Blitz lowered his hands from the kid’s shoulders to his elbows as he tried to peer into Magnus’ face. Beside him, Hearth’ lip was twitching dangerously.

“Excuse me?” Blitz breathed into the kid’s face whilst Magnus’ blinked owl-like at him as if he were the one being weird. 

“You interrupted me.” Magnus’s lower lip wobbled sadly as he seemed to slump in his place. Then, in a fit of passion, jerked away from the two of them.

In a not-so-straight-line, the kid began to march away from them. “Screw you guys, I’m going to go find someone who will care about my tale of wonder.” The threat (or tantrum) may have been easier to believe if Magnus wasn’t muttering to his legs as he stormed off: 

“No forward, I want to go that way, not that way. God damn, you had one bloody job to do and you failed. Your mother would be proud…” Suddenly the kid stopped and began to walk back towards them, looking like a stray puppy: all big-eyed and scruffy-haired. 

“Am I a bad mother?” he asked staring mournfully down at his legs. Hearth smiled slightly – a miracle that really showed how lovely his cheekbones were…  
Damn it Blitz, focus.

“No, Mags, you’re not a bad mother, nor are you female so…” Magnus stared up blankly. “Continue your tale for us,” Blitz requested with a fair amount of regret and horror. But it worked as Magnus smiled up at him, his existential crisis forgotten. 

“Right so he took me to his home, me with my pretzels and him with nothing but the memories of Jocelyn. When we got there he offered me his Captain Morgan in exchange for the pretzels and then,” he shrugged. “I agreed because he was lonely and hungry. I took the rum and drank to all those I cared about but lost. Though you’re still here, why?” Blitz caved until that silver stare but Hearth was remarkably unfazed.

 _Friends have to stick together_ , Magnus’ eyes went scarily wide again prompting Blitz to pull the young boy close and throw the kid’s arm over his shoulder and began to half drag him toward the bin of the park, all too familiar with what would happen next. 

“Like glue,” Blitz concurred. Hearth slipped to the kid's other side and then mirrored Blitz’s own pose to support their kid to the bin.

“I miss my mum,” the kid stated as they approached the kid’s doom. 

“I miss my dad,” Blitz admitted sourly, not caring for the kid’s grief all that much. All shirts had to be rinsed before sown to beauty and Magnus’ grief was weighing him down.

Hearth gave him a look that said _‘I miss my brother’_ but didn’t have the hands to make it official.

Almost in exact lieu of the comment, Magnus’ face lolled until his face rested softly on Hearth’s shoulder, which was kind of sweat.

All sentiment was lost though when Magnus gagged and hurled up every drop of the rum into the bin. It was ugly gagging as well; a lot more sound than action a lot of the time. Hearth pulled Magnus’ hair away from his face while Blitz rubbed soothing circles in the kid back. 

Whatever energy the kid had managed to gather was fading fast until he was slipped down to the ground.

Feeling strangely affectionate, Blitz lowered himself to the ground and allowed the kid to nuzzle his head into his lap. Hearth joined him and began to rub soothing circles into Magnus’ hip as the kid passed out, still gurgling spit every so often, which was about as charming as it sounded, as in not at all.

 _How long do we have with him?_ Hearth asked him. Blitz thought for a moment.

“Not long,” he admitted, signing as he spoke. “He’s not ours, he belongs to his father.” Hearth looked vaguely upset at that, Blitz wrapped a hand around Hearth’s shoulders. 

_Where is his father?_

“Probably frolicking in the fields somewhere,” Blitz grinned.

 _Magnus will join him someday_ , Hearth was practically radiating sadness and it hurt more than immediately.

“My father is an ass,” cam Magnus’ response who would’ve probably made a great actor had he not been a demigod. Or a good con-man really, although Blitz was certain that Magnus would’ve been the world’s greatest doctor if fate had left him alone, sadly Magnus drew the attention of everyone around him. No matter how unwanted it was, just ask his friend ‘Dick’.

“He’s not that bad,” Blitz shrugged, he had only heard about Frey from his mother and to be honest the god sounded like one of the nicer Vanir. 

Hearth let out a soft breath and his body slackened, as did Magnus’ in his lap until they were all out like fairy lights.

***-*- MAGNUS (a while later) *-*-**

Bar music was the most ridiculous sound to ever be blasted out of speakers, it was just a lot of sound and not a lot of talent. But his friends seemed oddly fond of the place, for whatever reason.

“Hey Beantown, you getting anything?” Mallory shouted over at him. Magnus had to turn away from Alex to glance at the selection of drinks sparkling on the shelf of the bar. 

“Let’s make this a party, eh?” T.J grinned, toasting him with a bottle of something foul. Alex marched up to the bar and ordered something expensive and blue. Magnus looked back at the glass of water he had ordered previously and grinned sadly. He hadn’t drunk anything alcoholic in a long time, but the desire to do so hadn’t really touched him until then.

“I’ll have a Captain Morgan,” he shouted over to her. She muttered something rude under her breath even as she ordered his drink. Alex came marching back over to their booth, blue liquid sloshing all over the place, not even close to the boy’s first or last for the evening. 

The music tempo dropped to something slow but dramatic, and absolutely awful. 

“You look philosophical again, Maggie, stop it,” the child of Loki shoved him harshly. Magnus laughed softly at his friend (or possibly more) ignoring the way his heart quickened and his cheeks darkened.

Mallory all but threw herself into the seat opposite them and slid his tanker of rum across the coaster ridden table until it landed softly in his hand. Alex was telling everyone some story about pottery as Magnus stared at the precipitation gathering on his fingers.

And as everyone laughed and sung along to some awful bar music, Magnus raised the glass to his lips, the added bonus of Alex’s arm wrapping around his waist made him swallow a mouthful. 

“For Richard,” he whispered softly.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, sorry that this ended up with a bit more angst than I intended. Any other suggestions I will take gladly :D  
> \- Lexi13930


End file.
